


The Interview

by harbor_song



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hotel Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harbor_song/pseuds/harbor_song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has a rendezvous with an interviewer whilst promoting War Horse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written real-person fiction in eons. But I wrote this for a friend so I thought I would share it. *hides*

You enter his hotel room, nervous. You’ve interviewed celebrities before but none of his caliber — definitely not one-on-one — and seeing as how you’re the last one to have a go today, you are afraid he’ll be exhausted from the constant answering of the same questions. Promotion is by far the most grueling aspect of an actor’s life and career and with the hype behind _War Horse_ he has to be exhausted.

Walking down a short corridor, you come to an open room in his suite harboring a chair and sofa; behind the sofa is a wall draped in a curtain of red velvet. Upon the sofa sits Tom looking cheerful, if a bit sleepy. You walk over and introduce yourself, not able to contain smiling wide when he does the same at you; it’s contagious.

“Please sit down,” he says, motioning to the chair across the sofa. You do so, crossing your legs and taking out your moleskin notebook full of questions and a digital voice recorder.

“You seem a bit nervous,” he states as he also takes a seat.

You take a deep breath, finding the right place in your notebook. “You’re my first big story.”

Tom makes an adorable face. “Oh wow. Well, I’m just an average guy so please, don’t be nervous. I’m sure I’ll end up talking way too much about things no one cares about.” He laughs at himself and you feel more at ease, less intimidated by his sudden fame. He seems like a great guy actually.

The interview proceeds and you discuss a great many things — with Tom going off into numerous tangents — and of course, the film itself. An hour has passed before either of you realize it and you bring a close to the interview, even if you are enjoying yourself immensely. You even toy with the idea of giving him your number, but that just seems untoward and you decide against it.

You walk over to shake his hand and thank him for his time, but along the way you accidentally knock over a cup of tea from the coffee table, spilling it near his feet and on the white hotel carpet. The heat of embarrassment floods your cheeks as you start apologizing profusely for your clumsy actions. “Oh my god. I am so sorry. I’ll inform the hotel not to put that on your bill.”

He slides closer to the edge of the sofa, reaching down to retrieve the cup with a chuckle. “It’s perfectly alright. See! No harm done…” but he trails off when he realizes his face is mere inches from your thigh and he can see the outline of your garters. He bites down on the side of his tongue, a silent sigh escaping his nose. This is probably not a good idea but your perfume smells amazing and before he can stop himself, his fingers have slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing along the lace of your stockings. You elicit a gasp, both from the shock of his actions and from the warmth of his fingertips against your flesh. He looks up at you, his eyes apologetic, and you wonder how it’s even possible for someone to be so beautiful.

“I am so sorry. I just…” He begins to pull back his fingers but you bring your hand down atop his, stilling his fingers against your lace.

“Please, don’t stop.”

You watch his pupils widen and further darken his blue-green eyes as his hand smoothes up your thigh and around to palm a soft, plump buttock. You suddenly feel very naughty for deciding to skip panties today, a smile tugging at your mouth. The fingers of your right hand run themselves through his ginger-brown waves kicking up the scent of vanilla and spice; his tresses softer than you imagined. His other hand traces up from your knee getting dangerously close to the meeting of your thighs.

The back of his hand brushes lightly across your folds, and he moans a little to find that you’re smooth and bare … and oh so wet. Turning his hand over his middle finger slides up your slit, taking with it your arousal.

“What’s put you such a state?” he asks, low and husky, as his fingers further parts you, a fingertip nudging your clit. “Surely, it’s not me?”

His eyes meet yours, but your parted lips say nothing. The thought of his fingers where they are, what they are doing, is beyond what your brain can process at the moment. He notices the blush creeping up your neck and resting in your cheeks.

“Oh, it _is_ me,” he says, and he _actually_ sounds surprised. You can tell he’s completely oblivious to just how amazing he is and how even after a routine interview his charm, wit, and intellect can leave you drenched. “Well, since I’m the cause of your indelicate state, perhaps I should be the one to do something about it?” And with that sentence he thrusts two fingers into your wet heat.

Your hand comes down on his shoulder in an attempt to steady yourself from his forcefulness. Both of his hands are on you, torturing you, making you squirm, as he stares into your eyes. You run the backs of your fingers across his cheekbone before palming his jaw and slipping your thumb between his teeth where it is welcomed by his tongue. He sucks on it, tongues it, kisses it and you think about what that tongue would feel like tasting you.

Tom has never done anything like this before. He isn’t the type to pick up random women and take them back his hotel but there’s something about you that arouses him, stimulates him. The conversation you two shared was the one of the best he’s had in a while. He removes his hand from your clit and palms his hardening cock. You feel a groan vibrate across your thumb and you know he’s touching himself.

“Let me help,” you say, removing your thumb, even though you hate for his fingers to leave you.

He removes his fingers, scooting back on the sofa, and watches as you kneel down between his thighs, running your hands from his knees to his the top of his slacks. You like this suit he’s wearing today; he’ll be keeping it on, mostly. Smiling at your own inner thoughts, you unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers. Slowly the zipper follows before you pull them down with his boxers. Tom lifts his hips to help you, and you let them rest around his ankles.

You bite your lip as your eyes drink in his gorgeous semi-hard cock. Tom takes a hold of it, squeezing and stroking it a few times, and presents it to you — a formal invitation. Leaning in, you flatten your tongue across the tip, relishing in the sounds he makes.

You lick the length of him before taking him as deep as you can and feel him swell in your mouth, growing harder. His head goes back against the wall as you work, bobbing your head up and down on him. Suddenly you are both covered in fabric and you, after removing his cock from your lips, laugh realizing his head must have loosened the red curtain behind the sofa.

“Shit. Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, as he uncovers your head.

You smile at him, parroting his line from earlier as you stand. “No harm done.” With the red curtain pooled around his shoulders, he watches as you grasp the hem of your dress and slowly pull it over your head, leaving you in only a black bra, garters, and stockings. His cock is now fully erect and lying against his shirt.

He takes a hold of himself, stroking, waiting while you place your feet on the sofa and squat over his legs. Once in place, he slips his cock between your folds and finds your entrance, teasing it a little before allowing you to sink down atop it, whimpering as he stretches you.

You move your legs so that your knees are flush against the sofa cushions as his hands cup your breasts and his mouth comes down atop yours. He’s tender but firm, parting your lips his tongue and exploring your mouth. You follow suit and taste him as well, moaning into his mouth as you rock you hips.

His hands free your breasts from your bra and he reluctantly leaves your mouth to bring his lips around a taut peak. You revel in the feel of his beard scratching against the soft flesh of your breasts. Your hands busy themselves with the first couple of buttons on his shirt, pulling it open and exposing more of his neck and clavicle as you ride him.

You lean down, placing kisses along his neck, your tongue dipping into the hollows of his clavicle before you bite down on the flesh that connects neck to shoulder. He groans against your nipple.

The thrill of the entire experience is becoming too much for both of you. Essentially an hour ago you were complete strangers, and now he is buried deep in you. You lean up, grabbing the back of his head and pull him up to look at you.

His twitches inside you and you want those eyes staring at you when he comes. You rock your hips and he begins to circle your clit. Both of you are dangerously close now. You bounce and cant and soon the knotted heat at the base of your spine spreads outward and southerly as you come, your hand fisted in the back of his hair. He holds you close as your climax calls his forth and he fills you with his hot come.

You both stay in that position as you regain some normalcy in your breathing. You laugh, “and to think I was afraid to give you my number.”

Tom smirks and chuckles.


End file.
